“The pride of man ensures his immediate dominance,
and his eventual demise.”
- Master Vanessa of Spain
It had been four days since Ryan had left the sanitation facility in a bloody mess and he was growing anxious.
The Brotherhood of the Vigils, he knew, would be scouring every bit of evidence imaginable and mapping out possible conclusions. The murders of those within the sanitation facility would have outraged the Masters.
There was no telling what they might do, Fundamentals or no. No doubt they knew he had a hand in it, not necessarily that he committed the act, but that he was involved in some way. That was given.
The real worry was if they figured out the finer details, a task for which Master Theodore had a special talent. They had agents everywhere, access to communications and surveillance, and now that several brethren were dead, Ryan troubled, they would most certainly tap into their vast resources, track him down and destroy him.
Where the bloody hell was Abraham, anyway? He tried to calm himself down by moderating his breathing.
He picked up a glass and poured himself a small amount of whiskey, added a squeeze of lemon and sat on a chair. As an Acolyte he was denied alcohol.
A clear head at all times. Moderation comes with experience. All of that nonsense. He sipped it and coughed noisily. Perhaps it was not all that it was cracked up to be.
He looked out over his balcony to the city of Richmond below. Thousands of people scurried around like ants, doing this and that, keeping their minds occupied with frivolous thoughts of pleasure and excitement.
Ryan gazed, trying to imagine the sheer scale of waste, waste of time, waste of life, which was occurring every second of every day in every inhabited city in the world.
He looked over to the white bell tower of Saint John's Church. Centuries ago, a man had spoken strongly within the walls. Passionate and rousing, he spoke of liberty. Liberty or death.
And here were the fruits of his appeals.
Cinemas played films to gaping audiences, replacing cold reality for a warm gush of fantasy. Bars and clubs dished up alcohol to help the older generation forget the horrors of the war and to the younger generation to feed their self-obsession.
Games stole time. Gambling stole money. Needles quietly filled veins with narcotics, destroying minds and souls, leaving nothing but vacuous bodies to wander about and until they died with stupid grins on their faces.
The great creation of man, of humanity, was happily poisoning itself into oblivion. From humble beginnings it had defied all odds, pushed out of the muck and developed civilization, society, religion and politics.
It had conquered mathematics, delved deep into the physical realm, and even deeper into the spiritual.
It had asked and answered many questions, often leading to further questions, always in an attempt to sate the hunger for knowledge. Whether it was to find God, to find food or to find peace of mind, the questions were asked and pondered over.
For with knowledge comes security, a basic desire of the animal. And security man had attained.
And this was the result of such security: Computers performing untold trillions of calculations every second for the sole purpose of alleviating man's need to think. Wars indiscriminately obliterating lives as opposing sides developed better, faster, more effective ways of stopping hearts.
Virtue, honor and sanctity had been sold off for a handful of notes or a shot in the arm or half an hour of sex.
“Liberty or death?” Ryan asked himself, “If this is what freedom looks like, perhaps the latter is not such a bad alternative.”
Disgusted, he turned back to his apartment. His quarters were modestly appointed. A chair, a bed, a desk and a television. The bathroom was sanitary, if a little run down. He liked it that way.
As he sat on the bed, he pondered his situation. He was here because he had shown his loyalty to Abraham, who had revealed a greater plan for the salvation of the slobs down below.
He would save them. He would help take their souls from the jaws of slovenliness and help lift them up to the heights that humanity demanded. He would drag them kicking and screaming into the light.
He would be Ryan, the Enlightened.
Some would come willingly, those who were worthy, and others would stay behind. Those he would leave gladly, for they would do nothing to further intelligence, or art, or design, or technology. They would be left to wallow and die in their filth.
The door buzzer sounded. Ryan stood up quickly and moved to the intercom.
“Yes?” he said, squinting at the distorted image on the intercom display. A metallic mask hid its face completely, with black orbs covering his eyes.
“Who is it?”
A voice crackled, “Father Abraham is waiting.”
“I asked who you were,” said Ryan.
The figure did not respond. It turned and moved out from the view of the intercom.
Ryan bit his lip. The hotel door offered very little protection. If it was a trap then he would already be dead, so he decided to open the door.
The hallway was empty. It was only a small hotel, run by the Jovic family. It had been in the family for over six generations, seen several wars and depressions, along with booms and celebrations.
The rooms had been redecorated over the years, some had their bathrooms replaced, others the flooring. A fire had burnt down the eastern wing leaving charred walls and a permanent smoky smell as a reminder.
The walls had seen much, and now they looked on with mild interest to see Ryan, robed in brown, following a figure dressed in gunmetal gray armor walking down a hallway to the door at the end, number seven forty one.
The helmet buzzed, “You go in here.”
“He is in here?” asked Ryan.
“You go in here,” came the response.
Ryan hesitated, then opened the door and walked into the room.
If Abraham was in there, it would not do to keep him waiting too long. The figure closed the door behind him, holding guard outside in the hallway.
Inside was dimly lit, enough to see by, but not enough to make out the wallpaper. A terminal sitting on the desk glowed softly so, after a quick look about the empty room, Ryan sat down in front of it.
He looked at a message on the screen, “Please scan your finger for verification.”
Ryan placed his index finger onto the scanner. It blinked red as his unique identity was photographed, reduced to a series of calculations and matched against a database. In the blink of an eye he had been verified.
“Welcome, Ryan. Father Abraham will be with you shortly. Please wait,” said a husky female's voice.
A little hour glass showed, draining and flipping itself. After two minutes, Ryan began to grow impatient.
He looked behind him to the door, then the walls. Why did they bring him in here? Why could Abraham not meet him in his quarters? Surely it was not a matter of security, or they would have chosen a remote, unpatrolled location in the borders of the wastes.
He looked back to the screen. The hour glass animation was still flipping away.
He breathed out roughly.
“You're impatient, my son,” came a voice, fatherly and warm.
The hourglass disappeared to be replaced with a symbol, similar to an upside-down 'Y' inside a triangle.
“Abraham?” asked Ryan, staring at the screen.
“Yes, Ryan. Although my family always refers to me as Father Abraham. I'd expect you to do the same.”
“Uh... of course, Father Abraham. I am sorry for the offense,” said Ryan quickly, his cheeks flushing red.
Father Abraham chided him, “There's no offense, my son. Your lapse was not one of impertinence, rather of ignorance. Your impatience, however, is disturbing.”
“I am not impatient, Father.”
There was a slight pause.
“Let me clarify something for you, my son. Lying will only bring you into my disfavor. I've been watching you for the last while, and I know when a boy is impatient. Right now, you are impatient. Now my question is: what's causing this.”
Ryan sucked his lip. Father Abraham worked differently to Master Theodore.
“I am sorry. I am impatient,” he relented.
“Very good,” soothed Father Abraham, “Now we must discuss why.”
“Why? I am not sure.”
“So think. Search within yourself.”
“I guess I thought that, after my release, I would have been brought back into the company of other members.”
“You don't like your accommodation?”
“The room is fine, and I thank you. Do not think that I am being disrespectful. It is just that,” Ryan thought hard about his words.
He sensed that Father Abraham was one who got straight to the point.
He decided for a harder approach, “There is much that can be done, and I am doing none of it. I have been in my room for four days now. The only interaction I have had is a masked man bringing me food. Surely I can be of more use than...”
“Hush, my child, hush now,” said Father Abraham, “It is good that you have spoken your mind so freely. Continue to do so. Now let me give you some information, to help with your plight. Firstly, you've been kept in isolation for several reasons, not least being that the Vigils are hunting for you over land and sea.”
Ryan sniffed, “I would expect nothing less.”
“They're perturbed, dangerous. We have taken measures to cover our tracks, but we can't be too careful. Our strength isn't as great as theirs, yet, and so if you were to be uncovered we'd be forced to feed you to them to save the rest of the herd. Do you understand?”
“I understand, Father Abraham. I would do the same in your position.”
“I do not need you to validate my decisions!” growled Father Abraham.
Ryan bowed, “Again, I am sorry.”
Father Abraham continued, “I want your attention, not apologies, son. To continue, your position in our Order is still being debated. While I certainly do have the final word, I'm listening to counsel before I make my decision.”
Ryan scratched his chin, “But... have I not shown my allegiance?”
“Yes. Yes you have. Your actions are certainly compelling. But allegiances can be feigned, my son. Hypocrites and liars are everywhere. Fact, you see, is cheap. It sparkles brightly and it's clean and keeps scientists and economists happy. But truth, that sticky, mucky stuff, truth is what I hunger for.”
“There is nothing more I can say? Nothing I can do?”
“It's out of your hands now. I have so much to ponder. You see, you could be seen as a liability, a weight that drags on the Order. On the other hand, you could end up being our most useful Director. There, now, don't concern yourself with what I must do. If you are to be part of the Order, so be it. If you are to be destroyed, that will be arranged.”
Ryan sat up in his chair.
“Father Abraham,” he urged, “If there is anything more that you need to be convinced of my intentions, you must tell me!”
“Don't think to order me around, my son...”
“That was not my intention...”
“And do not interrupt!” boomed Father Abraham.
Ryan remained silent.
Father Abraham continued, “We all have our place in this world, Ryan, and you may well have a place among us, but for now you must wait for my decision. Be joyful that you are still within your faculties and have been saved from sanitation. Be thankful that I did deem you worthy to have the opportunity to join the Order.”
“Yes, Father Abraham.”
Ryan rubbed his temples.
“Very good. Now, is there anything you wish to know?”
Ryan took a breath.
“Did anyone die getting me out?” he asked, hoping Father Abraham would not be offended. He was not.
“Ah, a pertinent question. We did lose a couple of men. They were but robots, Ryan, mindless, unthinking humans. Their souls had left their bodies quite a while ago, no great loss.”
Ryan stared at the screen.
Father Abraham continued, “Don't shed a tear for them, Ryan. Shed tears instead for your former captors. I knew some of them in my youth. Petroclus was a strong man with a good heart. This world is worse for his loss.”
Ryan was silent.
“You do not agree?” asked Father Abraham.
“I cannot say, without lying, that I agree,” said Ryan, finally.
“Why? Because he was your captor? That's a very childish way to see the world, and very selfish. His life existed before yours, and he performed many great deeds.”
“How can I judge a man on his actions if I have not witnessed them?”
“You cannot, so don't judge him! It's a basic human function to judge someone. It's one of the defining features of our intelligence, the ability to make decisions based on incomplete information. And while this has made us grow and kept us safe, our prejudices can often do us more harm than good.”
“I cannot do away with them...”
“Of course you can't. They are built into your brain and exercised daily. But you can control them. You must control them. Listen, my son. Your instincts and prejudices are tools, instruments that sway your judgment. And some people know how to influence them to make themselves appear differently to what they really are. Which is why I must examine you closely before I can make a decision about you.”
“How long?”
“As long as it takes, my child. Until then you should keep your strength up, exercise your body, keep your mind trim. You shall be summoned within a few days, one way or another.”
“Yes, thank you Father Abraham.”
One way or another? The vagueness worried Ryan.
“And thank you for your time and efforts, Ryan.”
The screen went blank and the terminal shut down. Ryan was left alone in the room, thinking about what to do next. It had been a leap of faith, trusting in Father Abraham and turning his back to the Vigils.
Ha! The Vigils. He scowled to himself. They had raised him from a child to follow their pathetic ways. So much time spent discussing hypothetical situations, thinking up silly idioms to remember.
Instead of actually interacting with the real world, instead of making a tangible difference, his time had been wasted like the rest of the cattle walking the streets below.
They were powerful. Immensely powerful, but so ill used. All their resources sat idle while they discussed what to do with them. Information from all corners of the globe streamed in to be analyzed across Chapters worldwide, filed and categorized to add further confusion to the discussion.
As an elephant in a circus, they paced obediently about their stake of Fundamentals, tied to it with a flimsy cord of self-imposed moderation, as the crowd jeered and the tent fell about them.
They were a joke. An ancient joke that could never reach the punch line.